


Liberated

by ingridmatthews



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, First Time, Fluff, M/M, Spoilers, post-episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-24
Updated: 2012-06-24
Packaged: 2017-11-08 11:22:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/442675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ingridmatthews/pseuds/ingridmatthews
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Endgame, Iroh finds comfort in an unusual place. (Spoilers for Endgame)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Liberated

It's one of Bumi's small ships that first finds the oil slick, then the shattered bits of wood. It's not long before they are pulling up a badly decomposed body that is identified as former Minister Tarrlok, from the monogram on his tailored shirt, a useless bit of vanity now finding purpose.

There's another coat found floating nearby. General Iroh examines it, declares it to be Amon's, but doesn't pronounce him dead. He's grown much wiser in the past few days -- the devastating loss of his fleet has been one of the hardest lessons he's ever learned. 

Later, the ruined coat is stretched out over the pebbles of the Air Temple Island shore with everyone gathered examining it silently. Bolin looks especially contemplative, his fingers on his chin, his head tilted thoughtfully. "I don't think he survived the explosion," he says, his voice tinged with hope. "He probably drowned."

"Never knew a waterbender to die from drowning," Iroh replies. He motions for one of his officers to take the coat away. "We'll stay alert. There's nothing more we can do." His sigh is a tired one. "It's just as well I'm overseeing what repairs I can while conducting the retrieval operation. The families of my lost men need to have their closure as well."

Lin and Tenzin both look grave at this announcement, while Korra and Mako are too entranced by each other to give it more than a cursory grimace of sorrow. Asami is lost in her own pain and it's only Bolin who takes it upon himself to offer some comfort, wrapping an arm around Iroh's shoulders, as Pabu chitters next to them. 

"At least it's almost lunchtime," Bolin offers, with a grin that seems only slightly forced.

Iroh looks at him, trying to process Bolin's special brand of succor and failing miserably at it. "Lunch?"

"Yeah, that thing that comes after breakfast, pre-midday snack and consists of pretty much anything you want it to," Bolin explains as the others drift off, rolling their eyes at him. Bolin leans in conspiratorially, almost nose to nose with Iroh, who pulls away slightly. "It's the most liberated meal of the day."

"Liberated. Right," Iroh replies dryly. He looks around for help, but everyone else is out of rescuing distance. "Listen, I think I have to return to my room ..."

But Bolin isn't listening, dragging Iroh along toward the kitchens, pronouncing himself a great cook, a notion to which Pabu supposedly agrees, although Iroh isn't completely convinced that fire ferrets are as sentient as Bolin claims.

Moments later, Iroh finds himself sitting at one of the kitchen's long tables, alone, with Bolin in front of the stove, pots clanging, knives falling dangerously to the floor. Fortunately there's hot tea already on the hearth, brewed a bit too strongly, but it's good enough and Iroh finds himself relaxing in spite of Bolin and everything else.

Bolin chops and chatters, curses and makes a mess as he cooks, even putting out the stove's pilot light by accident, a conundrum Iroh fixes with a flick of his finger. Eventually there's a bowl of noodles in broth before Iroh and he can't help but feel grateful for it, thanking Bolin with a nod.

"It's very good, but I was expecting something a bit more unusual for the most 'liberated' meal of the day," Iroh says, watching with amusement as Pabu slurps up twice as many noodles as himself and Bolin put together. 

"Wait until you see dessert," Bolin insists, through a full mouth. "Prepare to be amazed."

Iroh finds himself grinning. "I could use a good surprise for a change."

"I didn't say it was good," Bolin says. "But who knows? It might be!"

Iroh, for the first time in a while, laughs.

~*~

A long night follows. Iroh takes in the reports of bodies found and oversees the preparations for their return, along with writing condolence letters to the families. It's horrible work -- he's made a point during his career to at least get to know most of his crew by name and many of these lost men and women were closer to him than he'd realized. 

One of the dead firebender lieutenants is a cousin and Iroh has to stop and catch his breath before writing to her family, crumpling up letter after letter as he finds that no explanation of her loss is good enough. Frustration and guilt well up within him, making his fists clench in anger, his thoughts twisting in accusatory circles. 

_How could he have been so careless to sail full speed into a quiet harbor? For all his training, a fool could have done better. A peacetime general is as good as no general at all ..._ and so the self-recriminations go, until Iroh can't take it anymore and heads outdoors to the shore, ignoring the cold air that stings his skin.

He walks the rocky beach, viciously kicking at the small stones that litter it, too lost in his anger to notice that he's not alone. 

"Ow!"

Surprised, Iroh turns and peers through the darkness, seeing a figure huddled by the most pathetic fire ring he's ever seen. "Oh, I'm sorry, Bolin. I didn't see you there."

"Yeah, I'm a little short on light here," Bolin replies and Iroh takes care of that easily, turning his tiny, smoky blaze into a roaring bonfire with a clench of his fist. "Hey, thanks," Bolin says, reaching out his hands toward the fire to warm them. "Take a seat. Plenty room on the rock."

"What are you doing out here so late? And all by yourself," Iroh says as he complies, sitting down next to Bolin, who is surprisingly without his ferret. Around them the waves lap against the shore in a soothing, hypnotic rhythm and Iroh finds himself glad of the company, as tired and sick at heart as he is.

Bolin suddenly looks embarrassed. "Uh, well, Mako kind of kicked me out of our room for the night, since he and Korra ... uh ... are uh ... um ... you know." He shrugs helplessly. "I tried bunking with Meelo but that kid snores like crazy. Pabu didn't mind, but I got all wound up and now I'm out here, although I don't think I can sleep out here and hey ..." Bolin pauses, looking at Iroh searchingly, as if he's just thought of something. "Why are you out here?"

"I'm tired of writing death notifications to the families of my crew," Iroh answers with the same scorching honesty his family is famous for. Except when they are lying for the purpose of scheming. Fortunately, the clan hasn't done much of that in a while. In fact, they've become surprisingly straightforward with each generation passing, which, Iroh supposes, is good, all things considered. "I'm tired of rediscovering the enormity of my failure with every page I write. I'm ... " Iroh pauses, drained. "I'm just tired."

Bolin examines Iroh sympathetically, his eyes wide and deep green in the firelight. He looks both sweet and very handsome and for a moment Iroh wonders how old he is and if it would be too inappropriate to touch his smooth cheek with his fingers or wrap up his hands within his own, warming them with the slightest touch of elemental heat.

"We could bunk together tonight," Bolin offers and Iroh is instantly brought out of his reverie. There's a little room off the kitchen that they store the extra bedding in. I didn't want to be bothered fixing it just for myself, but together we can make something of it. You can crank up the fireplace, I'll lay out the blankets ..."

Iroh's mouth drops open. His mind has been so preoccupied with war and death he's almost forgotten what it feels like to be in a situation that has to do with neither. "Uh ... um ... " he stammers uncharacteristically. "That's ... very nice ... but ..."

Bolin blinks at him, before smiling gloriously. "Wait. Do you think I'm making a pass at you?"

Iroh feels the heat of embarrassment fill his face and is suddenly grateful for the relative darkness. "I'm not sure. Are you?"

"Do you want me to?" Bolin replies with an eagerness that both frightens and warms Iroh. "Because I'm totally game for that."

Iroh can't help but grin. The boy may be crazy, but he's the most charming crazy Iroh's ever encountered. "How old are you?"

"Seventeen."

"That's a little young."

"How old are you?" Bolin challenges, taking Iroh's chin in hand and making a show of examining his face. "Can't be more than twenty-one."

"Twenty-three," Iroh replies indignantly. His age is a sore spot, as he's by far the youngest general in the United Forces. The whispers of nepotism were never far from his ears, the word 'prodigy' heard far less often. "So I'm too old for you."

"Yeah, those six years are going to be the ruin of us," Bolin agrees cheerfully and Iroh can't say he's completely surprised when he finds his lap full of an eager Bolin who is kissing him in that completely guileless way excited boys do when they are trying to prove a point. Iroh finds he can't protest, not even when Bolin is nipping his way down Iroh's neck, pushing aside his uniform jacket, the one he wears while writing official communications, to remind himself of what's expected of him.

Of what _he_ expects of himself, but Bolin doesn't seem very concerned by all of that as he puts out the fire with a bend-dump of earth and pulls Iroh up to his feet and guides him unerringly back to the compound, straight to the room he was speaking off. It's dusty, but comfortable, especially with the fire Iroh creates and the bedding isn't exactly clean, but neither one of them notice when they tumble down to it, wrapped up together like schoolboys. 

It feels good to get out of the uniform that's been strangling him all night, even better to have Bolin's shaky, clumsy fingers take it off of him. Iroh closes his eyes and lets Bolin take matters in hand so he can lose himself, for once, in not being the one in charge of everything, all the time. 

Fortunately, Bolin is very willing to play along, murmuring dirty things as he works his mouth over Iroh's body, even pinning his wrists over his head. Iroh struggles half-heartedly in his grip, his prick hard against Bolin's taut belly and Bolin's smile is nearly blinding in the firelight. "Good?" he asks, sweat damp dark hair falling down over his shining features. 

A rhetorical question certainly as Iroh is very close to climaxing, as their slick cocks reach the perfect, just-this-side-of-painful friction. "Very good," he replies through grit teeth and it's just when Bolin's sharp little teeth close over his nipple that he can let go, coming in a blinding flash, cursing through a clenched jaw. 

Bolin makes a pleased sound as Iroh writhes beneath him, as if proud of himself. He makes a different sound all together when Iroh takes over, pushing Bolin into the down and telling him to shut up, in a general's voice, when he starts to babble. There isn't anything suitable to use for proper lubrication, so it's just a bit of spittle on his hand and Iroh enters Bolin with two fingers only as he uses his mouth to bring Bolin off, which he does with pleasing speed.

"Ah, youth," Iroh says, with only the tiniest hint of good-natured mockery, as they settle, Bolin breathing hard and noisily, his face slack with pleasure. "That was quick."

Bolin colors deeply and grumbles something unintelligible at him, a something that Iroh gently kisses away. "Thank you. I needed some kindness this evening," Iroh whispers. "You're a very generous soul, Bolin."

"So they say, but usually right before they dump me," Bolin says, his eyes taking on a hint of sadness. "But maybe before then, you could stay a little while?"

Iroh looks at him, seeing for the first time the insecurity that lurks behind the careless exterior and finds his heart touched, more so than it's been in quite a long time. "You forget," Iroh says softly. "There is nowhere else I'd rather be."

Bolin's answering smile is tremulous. They curl up together easily and Iroh finds himself relaxing enough to fall asleep, his cares put off for another few, precious, hours.

For this -- and for Bolin -- he finds himself profoundly grateful.

~*~

When they wake up, breakfast is already being served in the kitchen, the voice of children and adults echoing through their room. Bolin, still completely mussed from their exertions the night before, doesn't hesitate to open the door widely and motion Iroh forward. 

"Soup's on, General!" he calls out, scratching his head before accepting a cup of tea from Pema who looks between him and Iroh with huge eyes.

Iroh sighs, grateful at least that he's pulled on his pants before the door was opened. He enters the room with his head high, even as Mako glares at him with a narrow, questioning look. He'll probably get The Talk later, which will be galling coming from a eighteen year old, but he's made this choice himself and looking at Bolin, sleepy-eyed, his handsome face flushed ...

It will be worth it.

Tenzin, wise soul that he is, asks Iroh gently about the retrieval effort, which he finds doesn't pain him to talk about anymore. It's his duty and certainly the least he can do to honor his fallen brothers. He's proud of them, immensely proud and somehow, he will find a way to convey this in his letters, through whatever grief might linger.

Breakfast continues on, with many uncomfortable looks traded between various parties, until ...

"Did you sleep with Bolin last night?" Meelo finally squeaks, which, contrary to what's expected, makes Iroh smile, even as Bolin gapes, horrified.

"And you said that lunch was the most interesting meal of the day. I think now I'm forced to disagree," Iroh laughs, pouring himself more tea before raising his cup to Bolin, with a wink. "To breakfast."

"Yeah, the honor definitely goes to breakfast," Bolin says, returning Iroh's gesture, with a twinkle in his eye. "Who knew?"

"Who knew indeed?" Iroh says and the look they share bodes well for many more to come.

~*~


End file.
